


Coming Back Stronger

by DelusionsbyBonnie, The London-in-the-Air Archival Society (sakuuya)



Series: The London-in-the-Air Archival Society [3]
Category: Battle for London in the Air
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-19 11:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 21,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14236710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelusionsbyBonnie/pseuds/DelusionsbyBonnie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya/pseuds/The%20London-in-the-Air%20Archival%20Society
Summary: Rescued set descriptions (and set images, where possible) from round three of the Polyvore battle group Battle for London in the Air. Primarily not my work, uploaded here unedited for archival purposes.





	1. Andrew O'Rourke / @delusionsbybonnie

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @delusionsbybonnie, aka [DelusionsbyBonnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelusionsbyBonnie). It was co-written by Polyvore user @trulydear.

“Captain French!” Andrew hurried over, covered in smudges of white. “Sorry I’m late. We were unloading a cargo of flour and one of the sacks busted. Took nearly an hour to talk down the owner.” He shook his head. “Anyhow, point me at somethin’ heavy.”

The dark-haired woman laughed and pointed. “Take your pick, Mr O’Rourke. Plenty of heavy lifting to go around, and I’ve only got fifteen more minutes on this platform before someone gets suspicious.”

Andrew grinned and saluted before busying himself with the crates of supplies left on deck. There weren’t many, and they were all cleared away well before the fifteen-minute mark. Captain French clapped him on the back as he passed. “Well done, Andrew. I’m glad you came. Here, you’ve still got flour on your face.” She handed him a handkerchief and continued. “I’ve something I want to ask you.”

Andrew, reddening, swiped at his face with the handkerchief and managed a noise of assent.

“I’ve got far too much to do and not enough men to do it. You’re a solid man. Would you like to work on board ship for a while? I need more heavy lifters.”

Andrew swallowed hard. “I… I’m honored, Captain, but I’m no sailor. I can give you some names, though. And anything you need here on the ground, I’m your man.”

“Oh! Yes, I’ll take those names. Thank you.” She plucked the handkerchief from his unresisting hand and tucked it away again. “And I’ll be unloading on Omega again tomorrow around noon-- will you be able to make it?”

“Yes’m, of course. I’ll be there.”

“Good man! Excellent.” She pulled out a pocketwatch, muttered something, and began walking quickly back toward the ship. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. NO! Not that way, Hobbes, you maggot-pie, you’ll break it again!”

“Yes’m.” Andrew watched her go, barking orders all the way. He shook his head and smiled. “What a woman,” he murmured softly. “Damn fine woman.” He swiped his sleeve across his forehead and headed back inside the base. It was a scene of organized chaos, as the crates he’d helped unload were opened and unpacked, and he couldn’t quite tell who was in charge of it all. Still, if he picked something up and started walking in the wrong direction, someone would probably materialize to correct him-- that’s how things usually went, in his experience. He was about to plunge into the fray when he spotted a familiar lanky figure. “Oi! Atwood!”

Phinn's ears perked up at the sound of his name, and he quickly raised his eyes up from his shuffling feet to see Andrew. He attempted to wave, but the three bulky boxes in his arms prevented him from doing much more than raising an elbow in greeting. "Good day, Mr. O'Rourke," Phinn called out as he maneuvered clumsily through the crowd to join Andrew.

"Dammit, Phinn, I told you to stop calling me mister," Andrew grumbled, smiling. "Here, give me that." He took two of the boxes from Phinn's arms. "Lead on then. Oh, 'ey, you're runnin' for office, aren't you? Good man."

Phinn smiled sheepishly at that last remark as he led the way to the make-shift office he was headed for. "Indeed I am," he confirmed. "Though I'm sure there are many more qualified, I assure you."

Andrew scoffed. "Doesn' matter who's more qualified. You're a good man. Rather have a good man than a smart one I can't trust." He set down the boxes and clapped Phinn on the back. "That's what I wanted to talk t'you about. If you're going t'be a leader, you should know how to defend yourself, especially with the damn Retties tryin' to kill us all in our sleep."

"I won't get elected, surely," Phinn stated plainly. "Even if I was, I'm afraid trying to learn anything in the way of self-defense would be a lost cause. I'm not the most coordinated man alive, you know."

Andrew frowned. "Phinn, lad. Don't sell yourself short. Anyway, have you ever tried? Come on, have a go at me."

"You want me to just...hit you?" Phinn attempted to clarify. "I don't exactly think that's necessary..."

"C'mon, I want to see what you know." Andrew spread his arms. "I can take it."

"Well, alright," Phinn gave in. He clamped his eyes shut, swung his arm back, and planted a pathetic slap on Andrew's chest. Phinn peeked his eyes open slightly. "How was that?"

"Bloody awful, lad. Here, make a fist. No, thumb on the outside, like this. Now pull back and punch." Andrew demonstrated slowly. "Try again."

Phinn swallowed. "Alright," he said slowly as he formed a first like Andrew had shown him and pulled his arm back. He swung forward with all his might, the punch having more impact on his hand than on Andrew. He quickly pulled his hand back and shook it out, trying his best to pretend that his fingers didn't feel slightly crushed. "Was that any better?"

Andrew grunted softly at the blow. "Yes, better. Here, throw more from the shoulder."

"Shoulder," Phinn repeated to himself. And so he tried again, doing his best to take Andrew's advice. He still felt his fingers get crushed a bit, but he did he best not to openly wince this time.

"Better! Much better. Here, hit with the first two knuckles, not with the flat of the fingers."

Phinn nodded and tried again, executing what felt like a semi-decent punch, at least in Phinn's mind. He beamed with pride. "That wasn't half awful, right?" Phinn asked eagerly.

"Damn right!" Andrew grinned and slapped his back. "We'll make a fighter of you yet. Just do one thing for me, aye? If it's that woman coming for you, run. The female of the species is more deadly than the male."

"I hope that will never happen," Phinn said with a nervous laugh, "but if it does, I'll most certainly run." He paused for a moment to clear his throat before asking sheepishly, "Do you think you could teach me more of that sometime? Defense and punching and the like, I mean."

"Of course, lad! I'd like that. You're far from hopeless." Andrew beamed. "You'll be holding your own in a fight before you know it."

"You really think so?" Phinn mused happily.

"Oh aye! Don't go joinin' Albright's bareknuckle boxing matches anytime soon, but get in a good blow betwixt the legs and you'll do all right to get away from somebody."

"That's plenty enough," Phinn said with a grin. He glanced down at his watch absentmindedly and jumped slightly when he realized the time. "I hate to have to leave like this, but I'm afraid time slipped away from me; I was supposed to pick my sister up for the Hazards' party twenty minutes ago."

"Oh, you're goin' to that bloody thing. God love you, lad. Don't keep the lady waiting any more." Andrew grinned. "Have fun!"

Phinn laughed slightly as he ducked out the door, calling back, "If I have any time for fun in between gathering information and keeping Millie far from any men, I'll be sure to squeeze it in."

"Aim for the nose or the gut! Don't punch the jaw or you'll break your hand!" Andrew watched him leave with a fond smile. "Good lad." He rolled his shoulders and plunged back into the fray. Those boxes of supplies weren't going to move themselves, after all.


	2. Seraphina Strauss / @euphoria-301

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @euphoria-301. It consists of two sections from two different Polyvore sets.

The attack on Pi had been recent and it was devastating. People had been injured, equipment had been broken and ideas and dreams had been shattered. Yet, people somehow found strength in solidarity, standing with one another in the face of oppression and went out to build new bases and rebuild the broken ones. She had done so too until Gina had forced her to take a leave of absence and return to her house. But unlike them, she did not share their sentiment. She was an outsider, an intruder- a fake.

Sure, she had been accepted with open arms and she was treated like just another member of the resistance but Serafina always knew that no matter what, she would never actually be a part of them. At this point, she heard that disgustingly familiar voice of her foster father chanting in her head-

“No matter where you go, you will never truly be accepted for who you are… so give up and vanish and do the world a favor,”

Again, this was not the first time she had heard this. People had always told her this in various ways- she was too different, too strange, too aloof, too outspoken. But the person who had told her exactly what they had been trying to say was Harry Ratcliff-Pidegon. He had always told her that she wasn’t meant for this age, she probably would have been happier if she was born in another time- the future. Of course, people considered him insane for saying such things. The talk of the future had not been well appreciated in her previous life, mostly because of her foster father’s paranoia. If you know that you are doing something wrong, you will be paranoid to conceal it and will go to any lengths to do so, she thought to herself as Serafina blankly started at the half-empty cup of raspberry tea placed in front of her.

Harry had been the only one to actually see her for more than a little rich girl. He taught her how to stand up for herself and he taught her how to fight. He taught her how to build things, mend things and told her not to conceal her mind to what was present in front of her eyes. There was an entire world that was left unexplored because people had been too afraid to actually consider its existence. He told her of China and its silk and strange teas that had come to become her favorite quickly and about its porcelain designs and had described its people to be warm, yet unfamiliar. He told her about the exotic blend of unfamiliar cultures and people and its fiery spices in India and had explained to her that the African wilderness was the most calming place to be because of its absolute solitude. He had told her about the American natives who wore feathers on their heads and worshiped the wind and ate corn and despite having absolutely no material possessions, Harry had described them to be the happiest peolpe he had ever encountered. He told her about the round-faced children of South America and their absolute disregard for European customs and clothes- he had played with them, running absent-mindedly for hours until the sun melted away and the night forced them to retreat back to their families. In one of the many islands of Oceania, there were large faces made of stone that stared at him until he shrunk away into his boat but the oceans of Oceania had been absolutely majestic to his eyes. Therefore, for a rebellious teenager who had been trapped and confined to the whims of her foster father, such exotic travels were a wonderful escape from reality. This was why she loved to travel. She loved exploring new places, learning new languages and cultures, eating new foods, meeting new people but above all, travel was the only way she could ever be connected to Harry. His death had hit her hard. The wild beasts of Africa had not killed him, but her foster father had in a heartbeat and she would never forgive him for that.

Therefore, travel to her was a means to escape reality. The second things became tough, Serafina would always sail away on yet another boat to another unexplored corner of the world and would come back only when she felt that she was ready to face the world again. This was the sign of a coward- her true nature which everyone misinterpreted. They thought of her to be a brave warrior, an Amazonian woman almost who charged into battle headfirst, without another care in life. Of course, she did that too but she did it only to enjoy life. Sometimes, the same routine set in stone bored her right out of her mind and she craved for any form of excitement and she found that through battle. She knew that battle would amuse her from the first time Harry handed her a jeweled dagger he had been gifted in the remote, supposedly “barbaric” hills of Romania.

Thus, Harry had molded who she was today. Without him, she would have probably found herself trapped in an unhappy marriage to one of her father’s allies sons. After all, he didn’t seem the kind to be have friends or understand the very concept of friendship either. Without Harry, Serafina would remain to be an unsatisfied slave to her father’s wishes and actions- weak, powerless and voiceless. Therefore, she owed her life to Harry and she would never let herself forget that.

Despite these thoughts, it was unlike Serafina to dwell so much about the past. Even if she felt this way, she would have kept her thoughts separate and would never let them plague her actions of her day to day life. But this time was different. The reason she dwelled so much now was primarily because of Professor Edgar Gilbert’s injury. He was the first person she actually allowed herself to trust after Harry’s death and he was also the person who invited her to join the Resistance. He saw untapped potential in the broken girl and told her to fix herself and get to the base so that she could have her first assignment- “there is still a lot of work to be completed you know, we could always use another hand or two” he had said calmly. Thus, Professor Gilbert had saved her from a lifetime of hopeless oblivion and had given her a direction and a purpose in life- the rebellion.

Now, he was injured. He was almost dead and she visited him twice. She just couldn’t bring herself to see him lying on that bed. He was pale, lifeless and cut up in more places than he would have ever liked to have been. His eyes were closed and every inch of him was absolutely lifeless. He stank of death and Serafina refused to accept that. The longer she stayed in that room, the more agitated she got and Serafina had never done well with anger. The more she stared at his lifeless body, she felt her anger swell up inside her and it had not done so after the death of Harry. At that point, she was angry at her foster father- absolutely fuming like a rabid animal who was ready to stalk her next prey. This time was no different.

Of course, she had no idea if her foster father even knew that she was alive or not but Serafina was sure that he wouldn’t be stupid enough to think that she actually would have listened to his words and had killed herself. She did not know if he was still humiliated by the fact that one of his daughters had defied him to the point that she had gone to convince his wife and his birth child of his cruel actions and his real nature. To him, Serafina’s rebellion symbolized an absolute lack of his authority and influence. Thus, she had to go. Her very existence threatened his influence and authority over his family and the world and he would not have that. Thus, he tried everything to skillfully remove her from his presence. He had exiled her, hoping that she would come back to him, begging him on her knees to forgive her phase of insanity. But that had never happened. Instead, she had come back with a furious confidence and self-assurance that she was in fact right. Thus, he had thrown her out of the house, disowned her and had proceeded to kill the person who had infected her mind like this- Harry. Thus, with Professor Gilbert’s injury, the same sentiments and emotions had begun to plague her mind. It was because of this that she barely went to visit him and when she did go, it was because Serafina knew that she would be unable to control her emotions that she never spent more than 10 minutes in his room.

Serafina’s hand reached for the half-empty tea cup as she took a sip of the now lukewarm raspberry tea as she simply stared blankly at the sight of her over-stuffed living room, cluttered with various forms of souvenirs, books and objects- the trophies of her travels to various unexplored pathways across the vast globe. It was half-passed three in the afternoon, she thought to herself as she slowly pealed herself off her sofa as she walked into the corridors of her apartment, vanishing into one of the many “secret” rooms.

Gina had been right after all, Serafina thought to herself as she unlocked the door and entered the dark room, closing the door softly behind herself and allowing her body to be engulfed by the familiar darkness. Serafina had lost her usual iron-hold over her thoughts and emotions had had let them dictate her actions in life. She had overworked herself to the point of unconscious exhaustion as she was too afraid to confront her own thoughts and emotions- she had been too afraid to confront her own past.

“I get that its hard Sera but you really need to stop running away every time something gets tough. Life is tough and the only way to escape from it is death. Stop living on the edges of life and get your head into the game again. I got a lot of stuff to get done and I’d love it if you helped me but I’m not letting you anywhere close to your weapons until you prove to me that you’re not afraid,” Gina had said that when she had forced Serafina to exit the broken base at Pi, confiscating her jeweled Romanian dagger and the few weapons she had on herself as Gina forcefully made her exit Pi, returning her to her apartment and forcing the boy to lock her inside until she got a hang of herself.

Now, she finally understood what Gina had meant by that and from now on, Serafina would do her best not to run. Instead, she would be live with the philosophy of Alexander the Great and the battle of Gaugamela- she would strategize and outsmart the enemy, catching them by surprise and then would pierce their bodies with a sarissa like a kebab stick would do to cooking meat on the streets of Istanbul.

"The Boy"- he has no name. Or even if he does, Serafina knows it but chooses to address him this way. "Its much less personal"- that's her excuse. Its a valid one after all. People always seem to die around her and learning someone's name simply humanizes them in her mind. It is not relevant, nor is it required according to her.

He is her house attendant, her chef, her accomplice- her everything. He is not a young boy, nor is he an old man. Therefore, "the boy" has no age according to her. Again, it dehumanizes him and makes it easier to forget him, should she have to do so.

The boy was found by Serafina on one of her travels- where is not disclosed to anyone. However, his features are mostly European, and therefore, it is assumed that he is from Europe. This is not confirmed though. It is simply an assumption. The boy knows where he is from, but he too never speaks about it. It is a part of his past and he no longer cares for it. He was found starving on the streets by her, covered in bruises and cuts. His natives despised him, mistaking him to be possessed by a demonic spirit. He was forced to leave his village and fled to a city to avoid them. He did so as an early adolescent and stole from his natives to fund his travels. He had a bounty set on his head as a result and was blacklisted instantly. To avoid getting caught, he began to work in less respectable fields of employment- he ran with the early gangsters, smuggling various drugs and items from places he longed to see. He was a young boy- innocent and naive. He was the attraction to many young women, and a few men. He warmed their beds at night and they threw him out before dawn. It was a tough life, but it was money- he survived and he sold his pride for it. 

He wanted to get out, but he never could. His associates stole from his boss and set him up to take the fall. He was thrown on the streets, tortured and broken. Rodents and various aves picked at his body, eating his injured flesh. He had given up on life and was ready to die. She saved him at that point. Serafina stood over his body with a blank expression and kicked the animals away. She picked up his body, dragging him to a nearly clinic and paid for his recovery. In return, she expected him to accompany her and work for her. He agreed instantly.

She brought him back to London. He was to be her houseboy. She taught him how to cook, how to sew, how to mend wounds (she knew only the basic things, but it was enough), taught him how to clean, how to dress and most importantly- she taught him how to read. She would take him on her travels sometimes, but mostly, he would remain at her house. He would take care of the house for her, read her books, admire her artifacts and collection of random souvenirs, clean her weapons, and he would await her return eagerly. He slept on the floor of her kitchen- there was a mattress and a few sheets. It was a warm spot and he liked it. 

As time flew by, she taught him how to use her weapons, and she taught him how to brew poison. Serafina taught him various trades- she taught him how to truly survive. She never paid him and he never asked. She gave him pocket money instead, whenever he asked for it. He would travel the city, explore its dirty streets, buy candy for himself and would return only at night to cook dinner for them, if she was there that was. It was his day off. 

She never asked about his previous life, but he already knew hers. Neither of them cared though. Neither of them would ever admit it, but they truly did trust each other. He isn't going to die, and neither is she. Both of them know it. To him, she is his savior, his mother, his friend, his sister- the only woman he will ever need and to her, he is her houseboy, her friend, her son and most importantly- the only true companion in her life.


	3. Rebecca Tyler / @lunaofthemiste

I do not believe that it is possible to be even more surprised by the events the past few days have held. After being alerted that something was amiss within the Resistance, I took it upon myself to investigate. Of course, I needed a viable cover, so I simply told my parents I was going to visit Phillip. I hoped he would cover for me, despite the current issues in his life.

My life, however, held many issues. I placed my trust in the Resistance, and I hoped I would receive it in return. However, it seems like only some of the superior officers actually believe me. I probably did not help when I admitted how good of a liar I was, which is why I do not possess many allies.

As I headed down to the platform, I managed to spot Tristan wrapping a bandage around his bloody hand. He asked me what I was doing there, and I explained the situation: I had received a letter, and had possibly been compromised. When I asked him what he was doing, he explained and I was not pleased.

Tristan and a few other members of the Resistance were practicing fighting, as if we were headed to an all-out war. I have always abhorred that idea, and immediately inquired why he would believe such a fantasy. Instead of explaining, he scoffed at me. He tried to tell me that I was just an upper-class socialite who believed that the power of words would fix problems.

"A nice poem won't fix the war we've started."

Those words seem to be engrained in my mind, I simply cannot forget the way he said. Something about his tone made me furious. I questioned him - why is it that we must always kill to get what we want? If we continuously do that, another Resistance will come to take us out in time.

Although I tried to make my point without an argument, it seemed as if it was not going to help. As soon as Tristan mentioned Oscar, I turned and left. How dare he question my dedication while bringing up the death that brought me here in the first place.

I still do not know if I loved him. I do not believe I will ever truly know.

I stormed away until I made it back to the manor. Upon arriving, I realized I had never made it to the base. Unfortunately, I had to shelve that problem and prepare for the Hazard’s party. It was the perfect opportunity to gather information to help my cause, if only I could do it stealthily.

As I headed to the party with my family, Nathan complimented my appearance, while Octavia gave her usual criticism. Oh, how I wish I could be rid of her dreadful presence, but I have a feeling she will be in our family for a while. The dark green dress complimented my complexion, though the long train wouldn’t be helpful if I decided to sneak around. Once there, I excused myself to go make conversation with a few others.

Eventually, I found myself conversing with Lady Lydia Stanley. The interaction was increasingly awkward, as I simply do not enjoy her presence. We exchanged insults, and Octavia approached us. I believe that Belinda would be a better name for her, she is just a pretty snake. As Octavia continued to bother Lady Stanley I made my way to the side of the room.

After that dreadful confrontation, I attempted to stay on the sidelines, until I bumped into a woman by accident. I immediately recognized her as Lenora Lynch, and she seemed rather...irritated. Although I attempted to keep the conversation civil, she seemed rather insistent on arguing with me. While she was irritated, she revealed some startling information that I dare not write here. Hopefully, its use will come in time.

When I finally managed to be rid of any company, I decided to do some investigating. At this point, I had become fairly convinced that I had been compromised. The only problem was that I was unaware if there was viable evidence that I had been. After sneaking around a bit, I found myself inside an office that had been left unlocked. Although I wondered whether it was a trap, I decided that the risk would be worth the gain.

On the desk there was an unmarked, simple envelope that seemed to be placed there with care. I picked up the envelope carefully and opened it, examining the contents inside. Immediately, I recognized the handwriting on the letter from the servant I trusted, Amelie. As I read on, it became increasingly clear that she was planning on betraying me.

It is a pity how many people are fueled by greed - she knew there was a reward for information.

Eventually, I decided to destroy the evidence. I threw the letter in the fire, watching it as it burned until there was nothing left. Once the evidence had been destroyed, I headed back out to the party. I knew I was not safe as long as Amelie knew my secret, it was not a matter that could be solved Tristan's way.

It required intelligence and words, and most of all, my lying abilities.

I approached my father, playing the part of innocent daughter. He immediately picked up on what I was trying to say, and persuaded me to tell the 'truth.' I told him that Amelie was a spy for a rebellion, that she was trying to get information. My involvement and how I found this out did not matter to him. He was simply furious, that another 'rebel scum' had been brought into the house.

Amelie was arrested that night. As they took her away, she screamed that she was innocent, that _I_ was the real guilty party. I suppose she is right about that.

I am guilty, I practically sentenced another woman to death.

I should not have done that.

Why did I do it? Even I cannot answer. I hope that what I did was worth it, for the cause.


	4. Kara Feurherz / @fashionqueen76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @fashionqueen76.

Kara makes some Missions for Daphne Massey. Find some Weaponwarehouse for her. But her Plan was to get to The Hazards' Party. Her Ally has some invitation for her. She has some new clothes and a great Idea to play some Role of a Nice from an old Royal that has much nice & nephew - never know how much and the names. At the Party her Ally Molly has some paper for her. A list with all the names from spies for the government. Kara hope that the list has the name from the one who betrayed the rebellion and other names, to find them. The Party was a great event. And Kara was charming & coquette. She hear a lot of Stories & Information. And at the end, she has the Paper with all the Names!


	5. Louisa Montague / @stories-never-end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @stories-never-end.

Louisa Montague bid the family good bye, closing the thin door to their shabby tenement behind her. It was her last patient of the day, and now it was time to go to the Resistance. She'd been juggling her normal patients and the Resistance wards; Dr. Jhandir was quite bothered by her constant presence, but that was no matter to her. Louisa patted her handy doctor's bag. Along with her other medical equipment inside, Louisa was carrying several vials of poison. She had worked late into the night on them, ensuring they could be used for different situations, knocking someone out, or even killing. She’d also packed a few syringes, just in case the spy would need them. The Resistance had asked her to bring a few today, but she was going to provide them with all they needed. The Resistance was wobbling, trying to get back onto its feet, but there was no time for grief or to dwell on the death of friends. Louisa needed to get to work. Caroline was still staying with her, but had already gone ahead to the new headquarters. The two young ladies had grown closer, and it was a great relief to have someone to trust.

Although it had only been a few days ago, Phillip’s - no, Johnson’s - betrayal could’ve been two seconds again. It hurt to have to name him as an enemy in her head, but it was necessary. Right now, he could be her greatest enemy. During late-night conversations or chats over tea, what had she accidentally let slip over her work with the Resistance? What did he know? Louisa shook her head and inhaled the chilly air. She couldn’t think about such things. If he knew, then he would have to be pushed out of the way. Again, another dark thought, but the Resistance was all that mattered. She had to be willing to sacrifice anything to make sure it succeeded. It would be hard, and it would not be quick, but she had been through worse. She was going to help as many people as she could. Even if it meant going to the front lines herself and not staying behind to tend to the wounded.

“‘I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship.’” Louisa recited quietly. _Little Women_ was one of her favorite novels as a young girl, and it still is. That quote had helped her through many trials, and now the words brought strength to her mind. Head high, Louisa walked to the headquarters and all that awaited her.


	6. Dr. Jhandir / @sakuuya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @sakuuya, aka [sakuuya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya).

With Bart Spencer still comatose in Dr. Jhandir’s bed (it being the nicest accommodation available in the makeshift infirmary), the surgeon mostly slept, fully-clothed, in the chair in his office. It was less comfortable than taking an empty cot when there was one available, but more peaceful. Treating the wounded from Π and subsequent skirmishes—all of whom were wanted for treason against the city government—required staying out of public spaces, so Dr. Jhandir’s office was little more than a storeroom these days.

And that meant a much-needed respite from the crowd of people that infested his home. He’d welcomed them in, because controlling the flow of medical care made him powerful, but he’d acted so quickly after the attack that he hadn’t had time to give any thought to how they would affect his day-to-day life. That effect, as it turned out, was the near-total obliteration of his privacy. Intellectually, he understood it was a small price to pay for the authority he had gained, but that was sometimes difficult to remember when he was tossing and turning in an office chair.

Tonight, though, the doctor was actually, miraculously, sleeping, which is why he didn’t hear the quiet clink of lockpicks in his office door, nor the scrape as the chain was slid back. He was sleeping facing his desk; the high back of his chair made him invisible from the doorway. When the intruder finally noticed that there was someone else in the room, he stumbled backwards into a glass-fronted medicine cabinet, making enough noise to wake the sleeping doctor.

The intruder recovered first, and before Dr. Jhandir realized what was happening, a knife was wavering in front of his face. He kept still, but glared up at his assailant. “So, you’ve found me at last,” he said, more bravely than he felt. The gears in his head were spinning wildly, like a watch without an escapement. He kept talking with the same false bravado, just to buy himself time. “It doesn’t matter. Killing me won’t do your masters a whit of good, nor erase the fact that I slipped through their fingers for so long. Tell them that. Make sure—”

Dr. Jhandir’s rambling was interrupted by the sound of his flat’s door opening. Perfect.

“Dr. Jhandir, are you awake? I—oh!” At the top of the stairs, Louisa Montague broke off whatever she was going to say as she took in the scene in the office.

The momentary flicker in the intruder’s attention as he noticed Louisa was all Dr. Jhandir needed. He rose like a tidal wave, swinging a heavy medical reference volume at his attacker’s head. The man slashed out with his knife and managed to catch Dr. Jhandir on the left arm before being knocked unconscious by 900 pages of collected obstetric research.

“Come here and help me move him,” Dr. Jhandir commanded Louisa. Since the destruction of the main resistance base, she’d been a near-constant presence at the infirmary, to the point where he was entirely sick of her company. Right now, though, he’d take what help he could get. He just hoped the girl’s compassion didn’t get the better of her.

He took a key from his desk drawer, then grabbed the unconscious man around the shoulders, letting out a hiss of pain at the added pressure on his wounded arm. Louisa took the man’s feet, and together, they maneuvered the man out the back door and over into the “abandoned” half of the duplex. Dr. Jhandir raised a lever on the wall and a pair of bare incandescent bulbs flickered to life overhead, bathing the room in their harsh light.

Until recently, this space had held little more than dust and spiders, to better disguise the safehouse above it. As part of setting up the infirmary, though, Dr. Jhandir had moved a selection of equipment here from his basement interrogation room in order to make more space for patients. Said equipment included a high-backed wooden chair with a number of wide leather straps; they settled the unconscious man into it, and Dr. Jhandir pulled the straps tight around the man’s arms, legs, torso, and even his forehead. Once he was satisfied that the prisoner wasn’t going anywhere, he examined the wound on his arm as best he could through the layers of his clothes.

“I need to see to this cut. Stay here, and don’t do anything soft-hearted. If he wakes up and tries to yell, gag him.” He handed her an old, dusty roll of bandages. “We can’t have him waking the whole infirmary. I’ll be back shortly.”

When he reached his office, Dr. Jhandir found that his wound was, much to his displeasure, severe enough to require sutures, though there was insufficient blood for it to have severed any major vessels. At least it’s my left arm, he thought as he stripped off his jacket, waistcoat, tie, braces, and shirt. If the assassin had attacked from the other side, he would have had to ask Louisa’s help patching himself up, since her stitches would probably be much neater than what he could manage left-handed. As it stood, though, he had performed more intensive procedures on himself in the past. This was nothing. He injected a local anesthetic and—once it had taken effect—cleaned, sutured, and dressed the wound, using a mirror to get a better view of his work. Then he re-dressed (in his bloody clothes, since getting fresh ones would require entering the occupied areas of his infirmary), gathered a few supplies, and returned to the abandoned lab.

He had expected the worst. Leaving Louisa alone with the prisoner was an enormous risk. The girl had no experience in matters like this, and was as likely to be moved to pity as to follow his instructions. But when Dr. Jhandir entered the makeshift interrogation room, the prisoner was awake, and Louisa had not only managed to resist freeing him, but had actually gagged him and was sitting on a stool some feet away from him, a scalpel clutched in her pale hand. She was even angling it so that the blade caught the light just so. Despite himself, Dr. Jhandir had to admire that kind of attention to detail.

Louisa looked over at him as he turned on a small generator that was sitting against one of the walls, out of the prisoner’s sight. “Welcome back, doctor,” she said calmly. “I rifled through his pockets before he woke up in the hope of discovering his identity, but I didn’t find much.” She gestured to a small table beside her, upon which rested a roll of lockpicks and a grubby handkerchief. “He’s not even carrying a watch.”

“Of course not,” Dr. Jhandir replied. “An assassin wouldn’t want anyone hearing the tick; it might give away his position.”

But then why had the man been so incautious back in the office? Stumbling into a noisy cabinet was an amateur’s mistake. Dr. Jhandir scowled. It wounded his professional pride that the government would send an incompetent assassin after him. They had always underestimated him.

“I’m going to remove the gag,” he continued, turning to the prisoner at last, “and you’re going to answer my questions. If you scream, I will reapply the gag, and we’ll see how many organs you can stand to lose before you finally die. Blink twice if you understand.”

The man looked up at him for a moment, wide eyed, then—blink. Blink. Dr. Jhandir nodded and bent down to remove the gag.

“You did good work here,” he said to Louisa as he undid her careful knots, keeping his hands well away from the prisoner’s mouth. “Gagging an unwilling man, even one who’s restrained, can be difficult, and these knots are exemplary.”

Louisa’s eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t pay her—or anyone, for that matter—many compliments. But she kept her composure and shrugged. “I did it before he woke up. It seemed prudent.”

“Indeed. Now, you should go. You did well, but your assistance is no longer needed.”

“I’m staying,” Louisa said, shaking her head. “I want to see this through.”

Dr. Jhandir wanted to snap back at her, but it would be terribly unprofessional to have an argument with his assistant in front of a prisoner. “As you wish,” he said instead. The girl had been surprisingly compliant thus far, after all.

He plucked a knife from his instrument tray—not a scalpel, but a long, thin blade that didn’t look like it had any legitimate medical use—and removed the assassin’s gag. The man’s eyes were huge again, fixed on the long knife.

“Tell me who sent you,” Dr. Jhandir practically purred. “And be quiet about it.” A part of him hoped the man would scream. Any such noise would be dangerous, he knew that, but the idea of gutting the man who had wounded him was a very appealing one, and Louisa was less likely to lay into him with moralistic drivel if the prisoner “deserved it.”

“N-no one sent me!” The prisoner replied in a hoarse whisper.

“Oh, come now. You’ll have to do better than that. How did you find me?” Dr. Jhandir held his knife up to the man’s throat, not quite hard enough to break the skin.

“I swear! I don’t even know who you are!” The man was frantic now, his voice rising. Dr. Jhandir pressed the knife down a little more firmly, as a warning. “I-I swear!” the man repeated, more quietly this time. Tears were welling up in his eyes.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Dr. Jhandir told his prisoner, as though this was nothing more than an exchange of pleasantries. Then, turning back to Louisa, he added, “Watch him.”

He returned to the clacking, hissing generator and was pleased to see that its gauge indicated a nearly-full charge. As he pulled a thick, elbow-length rubber glove onto his right arm, he could hear Louisa calmly and politely urging the restrained man to just give them the information they wanted. But the man continued to deny knowing anything about anything.

Dr. Jhandir came up behind the restraint chair holding in his gloved hand a long, thin metal rod, which split into two prongs at the end like a huge carving fork. It was connected to the generator by a rubber cord, and galvanic force buzzed between the prongs. When he pressed it into the prisoner’s side, the man jerked in his restraints like he’d been struck by lightning. Dr. Jhandir thought he saw an answering flash of light from a crack in one of the boarded-up windows, but it must have been a reflection.

“Dr. Jhandir!” Louisa exclaimed sharply. He just smiled back at her, refusing to even acknowledge her objection. She had no experience in these matters, and he wasn’t about to alter his tactics to appease her sense of propriety. He applied the galvanic prod again, just for good measure.

“Are you ready to tell the truth?” he asked the prisoner, who was crying in earnest now, hot tears spilling down his face. Dr. Jhandir’s smile widened as he drank in that broken expression. This was nothing less than the man deserved for attacking him.

“Oh God,” the prisoner sobbed, “You’re one of Albright’s boys, ain’t you? I swear to God Almighty I didn’t know this was his turf. I never woulda tried to rob this place if I’d’ve known, you gotta believe me! Please!”

Louisa and Dr. Jhandir exchanged looks over the man’s head. Damn it all. Capturing and killing some petty burglar was much less of a triumph than doing the same to a government operative.

Leaving the thief to babble, Dr. Jhandir replaced the galvanic prod on its stand next to the generator. He took a syringe from his instrument tray and filled it with morphine, then set it back on the tray in exchange for a knife. He cut away one of the thief’s shirtsleeves, eliciting a whimper despite the blade being nowhere close to puncturing the skin.

“Relax,” he muttered, but he wasn’t even trying to keep irritation out of his voice. He grabbed the syringe again and injected the man’s arm. “This will help with the pain.” After a few minutes, once the man had fallen unconscious, Dr. Jhandir donned a stethoscope and listened to the rise and fall of his breathing become slower and slower.

“How much did you give him?” Louisa asked from her perch across from the dying man.

“Enough that he won’t be troubling us any longer.”

“Was that really necessary?” She didn’t sound accusatory, just curious. Nonetheless, Dr. Jhandir scowled.

“You told him my name. He was nothing, but a clever man could cause me no end of trouble if he flashed that information in the right places. I have enough to worry about with keeping this infirmary running smoothly; I was not willing to take that chance.”

“Oh,” Louisa said after a moment. “I apologize. I didn’t intend to reveal any sensitive information. I was just surprised.”

“It’s of no concern,” Dr. Jhandir replied with a wave of his hand, unwilling to admit that he would have found an excuse to kill this man regardless of other factors. Louisa’s slip-up had simply been convenient. “If tonight had transpired differently, I might have had time to brief you on what to expect, but you did well for someone without prior experience—ah, I think he’s gone. Check his pulse.”

As Louisa unfastened a strap to get at the man’s wrist, Dr. Jhandir checked for respiration with a mirror. Both doctors came to the same conclusion: The man was dead. They unstrapped the limp corpse from the restraint chair.

“Tell me, Louisa, have you ever done a real anatomical study?” Dr. Jhandir asked conversationally. “I know you didn’t attend a proper medical school; did the man you trained under ever let you dissect a cadaver?”

The girl shook her head. “I’ve read a great number of anatomy texts, and of course I’ve performed surgery, but never an anatomical dissection.”

“Would you like to? As a great man said, ‘he must mangle the living if he has not operated on the dead,’ and it’s not often you’ll have a specimen this fresh.”

Louisa looked torn, staring with an almost hungry expression at the corpse still slumped on its chair. But at last, she said, “No, thank you. I just want to finish this quickly. How should we dispose of the body?”

“I have an associate who should be able to handle it. He lives near the docks; I’ll need to fetch him. While I’m gone, tidy up here and then return to the infirmary. Oh, and please fetch me a new set of clothes—I can hardly go upstairs looking like this.” The blood that had seeped through his jacket sleeve was mostly dry now, but it was still much too noticeable against the cheap gray wool.

Louisa agreed, and they parted ways, leaving Dr. Jhandir to wonder at the change in her manner. The Louisa he knew would never have been party to murder, would likely have broken down crying at the mere thought. Whatever had happened to toughen her up, he was grateful for it.

***

The night was warm (well, warm for London-in-the-Air, at least) but Dr. Jhandir still slipped into his greatcoat before leaving. A man wandering around at night with a bloody arm wouldn’t be too unusual on this platform, but such a man would be a prime target for muggers, and the doctor didn’t want any more trouble tonight. He disliked having to come to this dismal tenement building, close enough to the skydocks that the air stank.

His unhappiness was made all the worse by the fact that he actually cared about someone who lived in this godforsaken place. Most of the people here, he was fairly confident in assuming, deserved no better than this, but knowing that at least one good man was trapped here moved his heart to something like pity for the rest of the poor souls who lived in places like this. It was not a feeling he enjoyed.

Dr. Jhandir climbed the stairs to Andrew O’Rourke’s floor and pounded on the door until the Irishman awoke. As Andrew dressed, Dr. Jhandir explained his predicament (and assured his friend that the dead man deserved what happened to him). They had talked once, over drinks, about the peculiarities of body disposal in a city like London-in-the-Air; Andrew had claimed to know places where one could toss a body off the edge and it would simply disappear with no repercussions. He also—and this was important—could easily procure a hand cart. He pulled it as they walked back and tried to explain to Dr. Jhandir how to block a knife with his forearm, in the hope that the doctor would fare better in future knife fights.

By the time the two men arrived back at Dr. Jhandir’s duplex, Louisa had finished cleaning the “abandoned” laboratory. Excepting the dead man still sprawled in the restraint chair, it was as if the place really was unused. Dr. Jhandir helped Andrew load the body into the hand cart and bade his friend good luck as Andrew pulled it back out into the night.

Louisa had laid out a fresh suit for him back in his office, and had even remembered to lock the front door again to discourage any more nocturnal visitors. Dr. Jhandir changed his clothes and sunk back into his office chair, but it soon became clear that the night’s excitement meant he wasn’t getting back to sleep any time soon. Instead, he pulled out a clean sheet of paper and began a letter to his parents. He couldn’t tell them anything that had transpired that night, obviously, but he’d had precious little free time recently and had fallen behind on his correspondence. If there was one thing Dr. Jhandir knew how to do, it was make the best of the opportunities life presented him.

***

Dr. Jhandir’s good mood persisted for a few days afterward. He still wasn’t getting enough sleep, and privacy was still a rare commodity, but all the tension he’d been carrying with him since setting up the infirmary had drained away with the thief’s life. Such a pity the opportunity to kill a man had been mere serendipity; he would have loved to make it a regular occurrence.

He was smiling as he entered the recovery room shared by Gina Gunn and Daphne Massey. The two women had their own space so they could conduct high-level rebellion business away from the rank-and-file. For similar reasons, Dr. Jhandir had claimed them as his patients as soon as they’d been moved to his infirmary. There was the prestige of working on important patients, of course—especially since Hope Darkness had stolen Bart Spencer—and moreover, if important business was going to be carried out in his home, damned if he wasn’t going to be privy to it.

He’d seen Gina sitting in the safe house parlor, talking animatedly to Michael Lewis about something or other. Though he’d asked her to come back to her room so he could look at her leg, the chances that he’d actually gotten through to her while she was discussing a technical point were slim to none.

That left Mrs. Massey. She was sitting at a desk she’d had brought upstairs, impeccably dressed, coiffed, and made up. If not for the crutch leaning against the desk beside her, there would be no hint that she was, technically, and invalid.

“Good morning, Anil,” she said, shuffling the documents she had been reading out of his sight. She was, he had to admit, skilled at keeping information out of his hands. His duties as a physician kept him from listening in on her as much as he would like, and when he got the chance, she usually seemed to be discussing something mundane.

“Good morning. I’m here to change your bandage again. You can stay seated.” As she swiveled her chair to face him and divested herself of just enough clothes to expose her wounded calf, he added, “has your leg been giving you any trouble?”

“It’s still sore and weak, but the swelling has gone down. It’s more of a nuisance than anything.”

He nodded as he unwrapped the bandage. “It looks better. I had begun to worry that it was infected.”

“I know,” Mrs. Massey rejoined. “You said so two days ago. Have you ever been told that you’re not a terribly reassuring doctor?”

On another day, Dr. Jhandir might have scowled at that criticism, but today he dismissed it with a laugh. “I am, however the best. There’s no discoloration, no discharge. Does it hurt when I do this?” He prodded the bullet hole, which was healing over nicely. Mrs. Massey winced and reflexively jerked away, but to her credit, she didn’t cry out. “I’ll take that as a yes. There doesn’t appear to be any nerve damage either. Good.” He cleaned the wounded area, just to be safe, then wrapped it in a fresh bandage. “Now, unless there’s anything else that’s troubling you, I have other patients to attend to.”

“Actually, there is one other thing.” She picked up a photograph from her desk and showed it to him. His good cheer evaporated instantly. The photograph was of him, galvanic prod in hand, standing over the restrained thief. He was grinning broadly, and the other man was in obvious pain. In different circumstances, Dr. Jhandir might have called it a good shot. “Care to explain this?” Mrs. Massey asked, her voice suddenly icy.

“Where did you get it?” he demanded instead. Mrs. Massey gave him a tight smile in return.

“You know I’m not going to tell you that, Anil.” She laid out more photographs, all from that night: Dr. Jhandir cutting away the man’s sleeve, Louisa perched on her stool and clutching a scalpel, the two of them wrangling the unconscious man into the restraint chair.

“Well, did your mystery source inform you that I woke to that man pointing a knife at me?” Dr. Jhandir growled. “I assumed the government had sent him to kill me, and, having gained the upper hand, I wanted to find out what he knew.”

“You say you assumed he was an assassin,” Mrs. Massey said, not missing a thing. “I take it that was not in fact the case? Certainly this”—she jabbed a finger at a picture where the thief was sobbing—“does not look like the behavior of a hardened killer.”

“No. He was simply a burglar who made a grave tactical error.”

“But you killed him anyway, and you shanghaied Miss Montague into your crime!”

“Oh, are you worried that I’m corrupting the Good Angel?” he sneered. “Louisa is a grown woman. She can make her own choices. And yes, I killed him anyway. He was a risk to the security of this entire infirmary. I know there are elements within this movement that want our guerilla fight to become an all-out war, but I thought you, of all people, would understand the need for continued secrecy. I killed him via morphine overdose; that’s as humane a death as I could possibly provide.”

“After you tortured the poor man. That sort of conduct is completely unacceptable, Anil.” She sighed. “But we are at war, and security is a major concern. It would be terrible for morale if our head doctor was suddenly drummed out of the rebellion—and after this awful little display, I don’t trust that you wouldn’t go running back to your old friends in the government.”

The doctor’s mouth dropped open in indignation. It didn’t even occur to him that she might have been intentionally lashing out at a spot she knew was sensitive for him. “I would never—”

“Be quiet and listen to me,” Mrs. Massey snapped. “If I ever hear that you’re up to anything like this again, I may not even give you the option of trying to explain yourself, consequences of kicking you out be damned. And believe me, I will hear about it. If nothing else, let this be a lesson that you’re not as subtle as you think you are. I know you think I’ve been plotting against you, but Doctor, I’ve been playing this game much longer than you have. If I really wanted to destroy you, your life would already be a shambles. And for God’s sake, get rid of that torture machine of yours.”

Dr. Jhandir wasn’t often caught short of words, but all he could think to say was, “Yes, ma’am.” After a moment, when his brain kicked back into gear, he added, “Who else knows about this?”

Mrs. Massey suddenly looked tired. “It’s a little late to be worried about your reputation, Anil,” she said, more calmly. “We try not to let past baggage affect the way we treat people here, but you don’t exactly go out of your way to put people at their ease.” She paused and pinched the bridge of her nose. “But to answer your question, Vernon knows, of course. Helena doesn’t yet. I wanted to get your side of the story before I reported to her, in case it wasn’t what it seemed. She’ll be hearing about it shortly.”

He closed his eyes. Thank goodness for Vernon Massey. Dr. Jhandir was willing to bet that any mercy Mrs. Massey was showing him was due to her husband’s intervention. If anyone in the rebellion knew that unsavory deeds were sometimes necessary, it was Dr. Massey. With any luck, the older man could smooth things over with Mrs. Spencer-Curtis as well.

Mrs. Massey continued: “Irving might know something as well. When my source brought me the photographs, he was in here—complaining about you, actually. You know, I defend you quite a bit, when you’re not being stupid and cruel. I shooed Irving out before he saw anything confidential, but I don’t know what he inferred.”

The doctor’s eyes shot open. "Suttler?! You allowed Suttler to find out about my private affairs?”

“When you decided to make your home a center of rebellion activity, you forfeited the right to be indignant that we keep track of what goes on here. And of our doctors, Irving is not the man whose decisions I find questionable.”

Dr. Jhandir scowled, but there was probably nothing he could do to convince her that Suttler was trouble. Suttler had been jealous of him ever since he joined up, and now that he was taking his rightful place as the leader of the rebellion’s medical staff, Suttler was increasingly becoming a nuisance, questioning his decisions at every turn like a petulant child.

Luckily, no matter what Suttler knew, the man’s scruples would likely prevent him from acting on it other than by increasing the volume and frequency of his whining. Suttler was naive and good-hearted—and there were far worse qualities for one’s enemies to have.

“I understand,” Dr. Jhandir said. “May I return to my duties now?”

“Of course. You do good work patching up our brave men and women.” Her tone was ever-so-slightly pointed, as if he needed reminding what his official responsibilities entailed. “I’ll be watching your work with great interest.”

Dr. Jhandir would never have admitted it, but he was incredibly relieved to leave that room. As he went downstairs to check on a young man who had burned himself quite badly trying to light a homemade petrol bomb, the doctor made a mental note to find out what Irving Suttler thought he had done.


	7. Caroline Marcel / @extraterrestrial-whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @extraterrestrial-whispers.

“Caroline Marcel, you are _better_ than this,” Louisa stated. Her friend had taken her in upon the death of Dr. Jacobi.

“Perhaps I was, but I am no longer.” She buried her face into the cushion, the ache in her chest that hadn’t left her since that dreaded night flaring like an infection. Grief has overwhelmed her and she found herself lost, like a child in the dark.

She recalled a distant memory of her mother, who was also dead now. Her gentle hand tucking stray hairs back from Caroline’s face, and a faint whisper, “Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.” She had thought these words were her mother’s own, but they were those of William Shakespeare. How desperately Caroline had tried to live them. Her mother would be disappointed to her.

A soft arm draped around her shoulders and she foolishly thought it was the deceased Camilla Marcel. It was none other than her faithful friend Louisa, who had been so kind and true. There was a love Caroline felt for her that could only be defined as sisterly. She was the closest friend Caroline ever had, one of the only friends.

 _Oh, and what of poor Phinn?_ What an awful friend was she to not call upon him in weeks. He must think her dead by now. They may not have been the closest of friends, but her visits always fell on a schedule that she had forgotten to follow. There were so many friends she had forgotten to see.

“Caroline, I think Dr. Jhandir could use your inventions down at the infirmary, would you like to visit with me? He always enjoys seeing you and I think we could really use your help.” She knew her friend was only trying to make her feel better, but getting her hands on some gear was exactly what she needed in that moment. She’d invent for the infirmary, perform medical miracle. She could do it!

“I would like that very much. I think that I should focus on healing. The Resistance needs me.”

“That they do,” Louisa encouraged, hugging her affectionately. When Caroline saved everyone, she’d shove it down Johnson’s tobacco-lined throat until he choked.

She knew that at the end of the day, however, she’d have the task of telling all of Dr. Jacobi’s friends of his death. Johnson would never do that. That evening she’d walk to Arthur Burrow’s home, tell him her tale of woe, and leave before the grief washed over her again.

“Caroline, I don’t mean to hurry you, but Professor Gilbert is in horrible condition and I really must get back.” She wrapped a cloak around the girl.

Driven by her sadness, Caroline followed her friend out the door and into the downpour of rain.


	8. Idris Li / @lightyears-away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @lightyears-away.

The after battle is the worst. When the smoke cleared, so to speak, I was left to clean up the pieces. Or, more specifically, the resistance had to clean up the mess. Stupid government.

I had been wondering around Pi for a couple hours waiting for Forrester, who had to run some errands to the 'big boss' of our little band of misfits, aka said resistance.

"Li!" A tall African American girl with frizzy black hair and brilliant brown eyes was rushing towards me. Melanie Victoire, my only real friend out of the resistance and only person I could actually trust.

"Mel, what's up?" I say, meeting her halfway, dusting dirt off my hat and taking off my goggles.

"Are you okay? I saw the explosions. What happened?" She asked in a rush, furiously scratching away on a notepad. Oh right, I forgot to mention my best friend is a reporter for the newspaper. She is always writing stuff down to record it later in the papers. Thankfully, I was the one to tell her what to and what not to put in.

"I'm fine. I don't think anyone is seriously injured. I think it was just a gas explosion..." I trailed off as I caught the sight of a familiar, yet un welcome sight.

A stocky man with a rugged look about him was walking close by. I recognized him as one the mad scientists... eh hem, doctors, who operated on me after my big accident.

Caspar Asteriard. Man did I want to punch that guy in his crooked nose.

I pulled Melanie under the shade of a nearby store and told her some fibs about what was really going on. She walked off after she got the 'totally juicy facts' and left me to watch Mr. McBuff walk the perimeter of Pi.

"Idris." A voice breathed in my ear. I was immediately on the defense. I through my elbow back and into the person's sternum, they grunted and I whipped around, kicking out so that my leg hooked on one of the person's legs, bringing us both down.

"Hold...up." the guy panted, and I finally got to see his face.

"Tommy?" I unwound my leg from his and pushed myself off him.

"That was a little unnecessary, don't you think?" He grunted, rubbing his bruising neck.

I rolled my eyes and stood up, sticking my hand out to help him. I made the mistake of sticking out my metallic hand. I forgot my gloves at my apartment.

He stared at me for a few seconds and my heart seemed to stop as I saw my mistake. Before I could tell him It was nothing he was grabbing my hand, normal one, and sprinting both of us to... who knows where.

"Idris, I have to get that... thing looked at. It could be a camera that the government is watching us w---" I cut him off with a yank of my arm out of his. He almost fell over.

"You don't ---this isn't the governments! It's mine." I said in a quiet voice. He stared into my eyes and then grabbed my hand again.

"We should still look at it. Just to be safe." I hated how he looked so disgusted at the thought of a friend having a metallic arm. Too bad, he'd have to get used to it.


	9. Zarina Knight / @bex-baxter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @bex-baxter. It was co-written by Polyvore user @sakuuya, aka [sakuuya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya).

‘So you’re telling me Zach was just messing around with your old board games? He never really said he like them. Huh.’ I looked at Marissa, who looked as baffled as I was as we were making our way to the Grand Hall for a meeting.

‘Well, yeah, I mea-’

‘Miss Knight!’ We turned around and saw a Nurse with loads of paperwork in her arms, scurrying over towards us with a rather urgent look on her face. ‘Yes?’ I looked at her expectantly and saw the badge on her coat said ‘Williams’.

‘Ms Daphne was asking for you in the Infirmary. She wants to speak with you immediately. She’s with a few other patients in there and she asked me to get you but I couldn’t find you, and then I heard a few other members talking about a meeting in the Grand Hall, so I thought you were off in a meeting and-’

‘Calm down, Miss Williams. Take a deep breath… Good. Daphne’s looking for me, is she? And she’s in the Infirmary, correct? Okay, thank you.’ I smiled at her and she ran off again. I turned to Marissa, who looked even more baffled than before. She raised an eyebrow at me and gave me a knowing look. ‘Well then, I better make my way there. I’ll see you later, and just tell the others that I’ll talk to them later, and catch up on what was said. That okay?’

‘Must be super-secret stuff, huh? And, yeah, sure, I’ll catch up with you later.’ With that, we went our separate ways. Me to the infirmary, and Rissa to the Grand Hall. I passed quite a few nurses on the way there, most of them had troubled looks on their faces. I suddenly remembered from something Zach had said a few days ago – some people were severely injured from the attack and it was going to take time for them to heal. In all honesty I felt really sorry for them. I guess at least for now, they’re safe and don’t have to go on any missions for their own well-being. If I was in their place, I’d try and get out, any way I could.

As I turned the corner to the hall the Infirmary was in, Daphne walked out and looked from one side of the hall to the other…guess she really was in a rush to see me. Just as she was about to turn back into the room, she caught sight of me, and whisper-yelled ‘Zarina!’

I walked up to her and stood in front of her in position. We were at the same height, but that was because she was in 3-inch heeled boots, whilst I was in my fighting gear, which simply had an inch worth of platform. Daphne started talking immediately, ‘We have some news for you. I’ve been wanting to find out information from the Government as soon as possible, since this blooming attack, and seeing as you’re familiar to the area and have access to a majority of areas, alongside your exceptional abilities, I assume you’re the best agent to acquire that knowledge.’ I merely nodded at her, okay, and she continued. ‘I need you to infiltrate their databases, and delete all the relevant information they had to the previous base. You are to remove ALL data of our existence from their databases, and replace it with INACCURATE information. I want you to know HOW they acquired the precise location of our base. I still don’t know how they set it off EXACTLY under us. It doesn’t make any SENSE.’ She huffed at that, and that just got me wondering even more. Daphne looked rather flustered with annoyance. I met her blazing gaze again, and saw that quite a few emotions were swirling around in her eyes. A majority was anger, annoyance, and I think some of it was just sadness, but then she had a determined expression on, and her eyes... Well, they seemed to be filled with wonder, and a certain drive I’ve only ever seen in a few people. ‘You are also to learn exactly WHO acquired that knowledge. I want to see if we could get them to side with us, they may prove to be valuable, and with your nature, you may be able to persuade them into joining the Rebellion. Can you get me that information?’ She looked at me with that expectant gaze of hers, as I processed all that she wanted me to do. I looked back up at her and matched her stern gaze with my own: ‘My pleasure, Sir.’ I gave her a wry smile which she returned. She then switched back to her stern and serious expression.

‘No-one excluding the seniors are to be aware of this covert operation. Is that clear?’ I gave a brief nod, to which she replied, ‘Excellent. Now do you have any experience with medication?’ I smiled at her and as we aided the Nurses in attending the patients, I turned around and saw someone at the end of the hallway just slip back into the shadows. I stared hard at the area, until I saw some movement. I turned around to see Daphne looking at the same spot I was just staring at with a deep frown. I quietly told her that I’ve got some business to attend to and she seemed to have understood what I meant, so I briskly, yet quietly walked to the end of the hallway and spun at the corner. I must say I was a bit surprised to see Dr. J standing there with an unreadable expression on his face. I was just about to ask him something when he whisper-screeched/yelled ‘Shut up, will you?!’ Well, okay then.

‘You do realise I can call of the agreement we have, right?’ I told him, I wasn’t in desperate need of his aid, I could get it done by someone else. In return, I just got a massive scowl. Geez. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

‘I know what Little Ms Daphne told you, and yes, I was eavesdropping, so shut up and listen.’ Well he’s snappier than usual. I just gave him a blank look, since he was waiting for my response, but I haven’t spoken yet, and in all honesty I don’t intend on doing so, until something catches my attention. But why the bloody hell is he eavesdropping? Scumbag Doctor. ‘I have information you would find useful on your little extravaganza.’

‘It’s not a bloody extravaganza!’ I yelled at him in a hushed tone. What the heck is wrong with this guy?

‘Regardless of what you prefer to call it,’ Dr. Jhandir said with a dismissive wave of his hand, and I thought about whether it’d be a bad move to punch this guy in his guts. In the meantime, he continued in that stupid tone of his. Braggy and crabby, I guess you could call it. ‘I have information I think you’ll find useful. I’ve not been in any of the government labs in years;’ I snorted at that.

‘Yeah, I wonder why?’ I added with a laugh at the end, to which he scowled. Regardless, he ignored me. I have to admit, it was rather petty, Zarina. Bad girl! I looked at his face again, and was greeted with a scowling face: eyebrows furrowed together so much it looked like a rats face… no offence or anything to mice…or rats. He mouth was pulled back in a snarl…. You know… the only thing that’s missing is a beard like that of Mr Twit in Roald Dahl’s book: The Twits! I nearly burst into a fit of laughter at that. I was brought back to reality with Jhandir’s voice – again – snobby, braggy, and crabby.

‘I couldn’t begin to guess where they keep their records these days, but I assume they’ve only become more security-conscious since I left.’ I snorted – ‘Would you STOP with the laughing, and snorting!’ He bellowed. Wow… someone didn’t sleep well. Has he got ants in his pants? He sighed deeply, and rather poor attempt at calming himself down. He gritted his teeth, and continued, ‘To gain physical access, you’ll most likely need to have the credentials of someone authorized. I can give you enough information on Thaddeus Beck”—the doctor’s mouth twisted as though the name itself tasted sour—”to make him an exemplary target. All I ask in return, as always, is information. Tell me anything you learn from Beck, as well as anything you find about me dating from after my, ah, “death.” Is that agreeable?’

‘Well, then again, that’s all you ever ask for, isn’t it?’

‘The first thing you need to know is that the man himself is a wastrel,’ Dr. Jhandir said with a scowl. A deepened scowl, actually. ‘Unless he’s undergone some manner of drastic personality change since I knew him, he has not been personally involved in any of the, ah, research that bears his name for half a decade. If you want information on his government projects, you’d be better off learning who his chief assistant is these days and pumping HIM for information in Beck’s stead. Even his wife, Lady Loretta-’

‘Isnt she on awful terms with him? I mean, aren’t they NOT together as of now?’ My curiosity spark was on the loose, now? ‘And why on EARTH are you helping me? Don’t you hate everyone? Our relationships is all about gaining information from one another, either way, is it not? But, what I want to know is: Why do you hate Beck with a burning passion?’

‘Hush! And, of course it is! And STOP interrupting me, you stupid child! Do you want the help or not?!’ I merely glared at the idiot. He hasn’t answered my question. Stupid doctor. He took that as approval apparently. ‘Now. As I was saying until you so RUDELY interrupted me – Lorry likely knows more of the concrete details of Beck’s so-called work than her husband does. She likes to tarry in the laboratories.’ Why did he call her by her nickname?

‘If you talk to Lady Loretta—Lorry, as she likes to call herself—

‘I know what she likes to call herself! I’m a bloody SPY for God’s sake!’ I nearly yelled at him. What does he think I am? A bloody amateur in this spy business? Pfft! You bloody well WISH!

‘Stop interrupting me! Tread carefully with her, you stupid child, and don’t let your anger get the best of you. Her marriage is not a happy one, but I suspect she nevertheless tells her husband much of what goes on in her life. And don’t imagine for a moment that just because there’s no love lost between Lord Beck and Lady Loretta, he would be open to coquetry. Lady Loretta is his second wife. Her predecessor, Lady Sarah, tried to bed half the office.’ the doctor shuddered at the memory.

‘That’s revoltingly. Ugh. Disgusting woman.’ With that he agreed, and continued with his rant.

‘And before Lady Sarah, Beck was engaged to a young lady who fled to America to escape him. So you see, scandals accumulate on him like flies on a corpse. He won’t be eager to add another one.’

‘Bloody hell’ I murmured, to which he agreed in a solemn, yet satisfied nod. Guess this guy hates Beck a LOT. God-knows-why, though.

‘No, the way to Beck’s heart, I think, is through his St. Bernard.’

‘His what?’ To which Dr. Jhandir gave a contemptuous laugh. Creep.

‘He lavishes more attention on that dog than he ever did on either of his wives. It’s named for, oh, one of your English blended teas.’ He fished around mentally for the name; it occurred to him after a moment. He scoffed. ‘Earl Grey. What kind of name is that for an animal? If you want to know what kind of man Thaddeus Beck is, he’s the type of fool who names a pet after his preferred beverage. But yes, he loves the mangy thing. If you feign interest in the dog, Beck will take an interest in you. He should still have high-level clearance, despite doing nothing to earn it, and he’s careless enough to let you take advantage of him, if you play him correctly.’

With that, he spun on his heel, leaving me - for one of the first times, EVER - speechless. He briskly turned the corner, and my gaze followed him walking down the corridor into the infirmary.

Well, then.

Just as I was about to return to the infirmary, I spotted a note on the floor, in exactly the same spot Jhnadir was in. I picked it up and the note read:

'How to get to Beck and what to look for. Use this wisely, and don't forget the agreement, you insolent child. J'

I balled my hands into fists at that. How DARE he call me an insolent child?

Calming myself down, I tucked the note into my jackets pocket, and followed him. As I entered the Infirmary, I was pulled away almost instantly by Daphne, who when I looked at her, had a rather stern, curious, and exasperated look all mixed into one urgent expression. How can she so that? We turned the corner I just returned from and I saw Dr Jhandir following our every movement with his cold, stern, gaze.

'Well, what happened, girl? Speak?!' Slightly taken aback, I stuffed my hand in my jacket pocket, and took out the note. I waved it around in front of our faces and I met her gaze,

'I think we have a lead, Ma'am' with that she grinned, and I just smirked.

_This better work Dr J. Or I swear, I'll kill you myself._


	10. Will St. James / @slightlyterrified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @slightlyterrified.

Will was making slow but steady progress on the cyborg case, but he hadn't had any real leads until Tommy came to him with the invites Ridley stole to the Hazards' party. He was delighted to find out, and immediately accepted, after all, it was his only way to access the people behind the cyborg project, and Thaddeus Beck in particular.


	11. Beth de Garcia / @heymisstm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @heymisstm.

Elizabeth de Garcia was a powerful woman, one who prided herself immensely on her ability to stir things up and not get caught in the crossfire. It was quite a remarkable talent of hers, one she loved to use on an almost daily basis. She also prided herself on her acting skills, something that went hand-in-hand with her flirtatious nature. All these elements of her personality would help her tonight.

Beth had gone to the party. The Hazards’ party, to be exact. She had gotten tired of torturing her contacts for information, and quite honestly, she was ready to get into the thick of it herself. All the government’s highest officials would be there tonight. Where better to mingle with the enemy, and get exactly the information she wanted?

She had strode past the servants with her head held high, the mere peasants not questioning her presence. Everyone knew of the late Antonio de Garcia’s fearsome daughter, and they knew the power that clung to her name and her company. No one would question her presence at a high-end party like this one. Besides, she had been invited! It wasn’t as if she was sneaking into the place.

That said, many heads did turn her way as she glided down the marble staircase to the floor, and she revelled in the looks sent her way. She had worked hard to make a name for herself. As Shakespeare once said, “God has given you one face, and you make yourself another”. And that image was something she worked hard to create.

It was at that thought that she felt a solid form slam into her. She gasped, falling backward into the floor with the heavy weight pinning her down. Just what she needed - a drunken fool stopping her from getting where she needed to be. She tried to shove him off, to no avail. Beth was known for her mental and psychological strength - not physical. She knew for a fact that it would take someone else’s cooperation to wrench this drunkard off of her.

So, you can imagine her surprise when the man pulled himself up, his face angled just right so that she could make out his face in the dim lighting.

Walter Steers. Son of the mayor.

“My apologies,” he murmured, a look of horror appearing on his face as he met her eyes. “I did not mean for -”

“It’s quite alright,” Beth said quietly, her voice affecting a reassuring tone. The man was intoxicated. What could she do to reprimand him, when he would only forget it in the morning? Besides, she had struck on a brilliant idea. She stood and offered him her hand, which he took hesitatingly.

“I should be the one offering my hand to you,” Walter chuckled, standing and dusting himself down in a clumsy manner.

“I daresay you are not that old-fashioned, sir,” she smiled, tucking an amber strand of hair behind her ear.

“On the contrary,” he slurred. He took a hold of her hand, leaning down and pressing a sloppy kiss to her knuckles. She held back a grimace. Apparently even while under the influence he had to be a gentleman. “I am quite old-fashioned indeed.”

Beth forced a soft laugh.

Walter stood straight. “My name is Walter Steers. And who might you be, milady?”

“Elizabeth. Elizabeth de Garcia.” She quickly reached out as he stumbled over to the side, gripping both his arms to steady him. “Perhaps we should find you somewhere to rest your legs,” she suggested, leading him over to a loveseat tucked in the corner. Most of his weight was against her, not exactly the ideal position to be in while wearing heels. But she tried to keep going. The last thing she needed was the mayor’s son to pass out on her. She eventually made it to the seat, carefully lowering him down into it.

“That’s wonderful,” he sighed, sinking into the satin cushions. He smiled up at her and patted the space beside him. “Come sit with me. It would not do for a lady as radiant as you to stand when she could rest her feet.”

Beth gave a tinkling laugh and carefully perched herself on the seat beside him. “Are you always this complimentary after a few glasses of champagne?”

Walter gave what she assumed was meant to be a charming grin, but was more a trembling grimace. “Oh, my dear, the drinks I had were much stronger than champagne, and I had more than a few!”

Beth leaned against her hand, for once not feigning interest. “And why would a man as handsome and mannerly as yourself succumb to the wealthy man’s poison?”

“Funny.” Walter immediately sobered, running a hand through his already unruly blond hair. “It's complicated, Elizabeth. I doubt you came here to listen to a sob story.”

Beth moved a little closer, resting a gentle hand on his arm. “Please, call me Beth. Now, tell me what's on your mind.”

Walter nodded slowly, slouching in the chair. His eyes were alight with the effects of alcohol, but it couldn't mask the sadness in their depths. “I’m a broken man, Beth,” he said, his tone soft. “I’m afraid that it may affect my life in ways that will only break me and my family further.”

“Oh?” Intrigued, Beth moved closer to him, the side of her body pressed into his. She molded her expression into one of concern. “How so?”

He gave a little groan, closing his eyes and leaning his head to the side. “I was to announce my engagement to Elmira Hazard in a few weeks’ time,” he sighed. “It was to be the big news of the year. And now, for some reason, her father has called it off. He is refusing to let me marry her.”

Beth almost rolled her eyes. Wonderful - a drunken man with love woes. Exactly what she needed. “I'm terribly sorry.”

He waved his hand impatiently, surprising her. “Oh, that's not my worry - Elmira is such a gossip, it becomes tedious to spend more than an hour with her. Our marriage would have been my prison sentence.” He shook his head. “No, my worry is the feuding between my family and hers. This calling off seemed to spark the beginning of a spat between them, and it only seems to be getting worse as the days go by.”

“And you blame yourself?” Beth asked perceptively. Not that he was hiding his feelings on the matter - they were practically written all over his face.

“Indeed,” he sighed. His voice was quivering, and his eyes were downcast, blinking rapidly. Oh no, if he started on her, she’d throw a fit. She didn’t come here to be a shoulder to cry on.

...or did she?

The mayor’s son was quite vulnerable right now. He needed someone to lean on, he needed support and she knew for a fact that he wasn't going to get that from his father. But what if…

What if she took on that role? Her acting skills were good, her flirting skills even better. She had managed to get all this information out of his drunken self without a hitch. She could lay the foundations right now for a bond with him, one that she could eventually use to gain all the information she needed about the government, straight from the source. She hid a smirk. Sometimes she was cleverer than she thought!

“Walter, it is not your fault if your families are feuding,” she said in a soothing voice. “They are the ones who decided to start it. You have nothing to do with it.”

Walter nodded mutely. Then he leaned over and rested his head on her shoulder, tears suddenly streaming down his cheeks.

“Oh - erm - right then,” she muttered, staring at him in disbelief. She patted his head awkwardly, jumping when a loud sob escaped him. “Bloody hell.”

“I’ve broken everything,” he moaned, like a wailing ghost. She tried to get him to quieten, giving a strained smile to the shocked patrons nearby. He wouldn't stop! “And they’re going to break everything that’s left!”

Good God, how was she going to get out of this one?

“Walt?” She heard another male voice come from the right. Two men came into few, young and anxious. Both sets of eyes widened as the drunken and sobbing man came into few. “Walt!”

As they raced over, Beth couldn't hide her relief. Now, she had to play it in a way that worked in her favour. “Thank goodness! He started crying and I had no idea what to do!”

Both men exchanged a worried glance. “We’re terribly sorry about all this, Miss…?”

“de Garcia.”

“Ah,” the man smiled weakly. She suddenly recognised him - Warren Herald. Seemingly Walt did have friends in high places. “I’m afraid that dear old Walt overdid it tonight. We’ll take him off your hands.”

Beth nodded. Then she frowned. “But - but I’d like to know he made it home safe.” She honestly didn't care that much, but they didn’t need to know that, did they?

Warren frowned, and then brightened, obviously having struck upon an idea. “I’ll get him to call around to you tomorrow, when he’s slept this off.”

“Great! I shall give you my address -”

“There’s no need, Miss de Garcia,” Warren assured her. He gave a large grin, one that unnerved her. “We know where to find you.” He reached down and helped Walt stand, slinging an arm over his neck. “Dave! Give us a hand, would you?”

The other man nodded and raced over to help. Beth watched them walk away, fixing her dress and hair. Then she stood, striding to the floor. She grabbed a flute of champagne from a tray as a waiter passed.

She had planted the seeds. She wasn't too worried about the fact that Warren knew where she lived - most people did. Her trading company was one of the biggest in the city. But she felt uneasy about him. She’d have to keep an eye on him.

Sighing, she drained the flute and pushed it into a servant’s hands. Then, flicking her hair over her shoulder, she carefully walked up the steps and left the party.

Her job here was done.


	12. Maddie Summers / @a-eterno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @a-eterno.

Glittering lights almost blind Maddie as she totters (gracefully, of course--what else?!) into the majestic house of the Hazards'. Of course, the horrid bastard had the place dressed up to the nines: Candelabras blazed, metallic swords gleamed ominously off the walls, and golden dresses swished elegantly on the polished dance floor, mingling with the black coattails of the men.

Madelaide almost sighed, but caught herself. As she made a beeline towards the table of refreshments, she handed her invitation to the butler at the door, smiling when she saw it was. Sneaky Xavier, how had he gotten in? The man bowed at her, and took her invitation. She proceeded in, still heading to get a drink. Whenever she went to a party, she needed to be at least partially drunk.

Grabbing a delicate flute of champagne, she thoughtfully sipped it as she looked around the room. The attendants were all either high government officials or the glittering youngsters of the nobility, which she thought hilarious. After all, she fit in neither of those groups, especially the youngsters. They all hated her, especially since she was actually mature.

All idiots, of course.

She snorted to herself, sipping a bit more. Soon enough, (As expected, sigh) someone came to talk to her. It was Dave Heaton, the rake on the Ton. He annoyed her to no end, and she was especially wary of him since he could discover her secret at any second. She smiled as him cautiously over the rim of her glass as he gave her his trademark smirk, almost making her eye twitch with annoyance. What a dandy little rake! He annoyed her to no end. (She would never admit that she actually enjoyed talking to him at times--NEVER EVER NO NO NO) As he gracefully grabbed a champagne flute for himself, he stood next to her. Taking a graceful sip, making his refined Adam's Apple bob up and down, he said, "Apparently The Chairman will be announcing the destruction of The Rebellion today." A careless statement to most, but Madelaide could see the calculation behind it. She was swimming in dangerous waters, apparently.

"How interesting that you know of this announcement even before it happened!" She tittered, taking another sip of champagne. A satisfactory response, one that took the attention off her opinion and tossed him into question.

Of course, she underestimated him. What a pity.

Instead of flustering and avoiding the subject completely, he smirked at her in his damned infuriating way. "Well, I have my sources, as I suspect you do as well, my dear nosy woman."

Madelaide fumed inside, but smiled on the out. How dare he question her motives and insult her in the same sentence?! How infuriating.

"I am not your dear, Mr. Heaton." She smirked at him, and his smirk dropped for a second. Obviously, if his abilities as the Ton rake were in question, he got serious. Blasted man. He started to talk, but someone even worse appeared. Maddie almost frowned, but saved herself at the last second. Warren Herald as waltzed up next to her, and bowed to her.

"I would love to have this dance, Miss Madelaide." He lowered his head subserviently, but she almost sighted his confident smirk under the façade of politeness. Dave's smile dropped from his face, but he did nothing to stop the event going on. Everyone already knew what had conspired between Warren and Maddie (They hated each others guts), but no one interfered. After all, it was useless. Nothing could stop them from killing each other if they had the chance.

Tilting her head downward, she said softly, "I would be honoured, Sir." She held out her hand, but instead of kissing it-- he just held his head over it. She cursed him for what must have been the umpteenth time in her life for being such a clod. As the orchestra started to play a song for a lively Reel (To the Duchess of Devonshire Style), the pair stood a respectful distance away from each other, waiting for the reel to start. It was an easy dance, and they were the last couple, who did the least movement. They stood waiting until they were included, and Madelaide thought that she saw Phillip Jacobs (@tokyo-mocha) with Elmira Hazard. She didn't doubt that it was him, since he was the flirt of the century.

Maddie started to move towards the first lady in the dance, smiling when she realized it was Chairman Hazard's wife, Mrs. Geneva. She inclined her head politely, but they did not have time to exchange pleasantries as the group of six moved in a clockwise fashion, each of the three couples meeting in the middle for a brief greeting before resuming their places. They continued to briefly meet at the middle, until the dance finally ended. Warren bowed deeply to her, but his eyes were dark as he said, "Thank you for the dance."

Wordless, Maddie sank into a curtsy.

Maddie thought briefly of going to get a brief rest from all of the hubaloo, but apparently Mr. Walther Steers thought to pay her some attention.

How inconvenient.

He smiled at her charmingly as the orchestra started up again. They twirled in three-timed circles as Walter leaned in closer to her, making her want to lean away but knowing she couldn't or else she would seem rude. He whispered into her ear, "Such an old fashioned dance, no?"

"The waltz?" She wrinkled her nose. It wasn't THAT old.

"No, the "Duchess of Devonshire Reel." It was basically invented in the 18th century." Maddie nodded her head: for it was true. It had originally been used in Napoleonic Ballrooms, something that her great-grandparents would've been able to see.

"A great many things are outdated these days, no?" He said suggestively, still leaning close to her ear.

"I do not comprehend, Sir." But she understood perfectly what he was saying. He knew.

"Oh, I think you do, my dear." As he said these seductive words, the dance ended.

Why was everyone so set on calling her "dear"? She was dear to no one, thank you very much.

Maddie spent the rest of the night chatting within high socialites. (not that she enjoyed it, of course). She chatted for a bit with Mr. Ripley, but then the Chairman Hazard clinked his glass for the announcement.

"The Rebellion has been completely eradicated. May we toast to the new future of London-in-the-Air." As the people raised their glasses, did she imagine that Walther Steers winked at her?


	13. Phillip Jacobs / @tokyo-mocha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @tokyo-mocha.

“Phillip Jacobs on invitation of Elmira Hazard,” I shoved her scented, hand-written little note into the hand of the servant at the door.

“Sir, I cannot allow you in here without proper invitation.” I rolled my eyes at him and spotted Elmira, who I pointed out to him. I flashed her a devilish grin, to which she responded with an adjustment of the bust of her dress and a few kisses blown from behind her fan.

“Don’t bother announcing me either old chap.” I patted the servant on the chest and made my way into the plump, frivolous crowd.

For once, I was not in the mood for a party. My father sat rotting in the ground, with only I to witness the burial. I didn’t want to talk to all his friends, for them to tell me that I’m the reason he’s dead. I didn’t even want to suffer through Caroline’s whimpering. It’s pathetic, and I have better things to do. I didn’t even wait for them to fill his grave.

“The secret of change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but building on the new,” Socrates once said. That’s what I needed to do.

Many things in that ballroom caught my attention. Lenora Lynch balling her fists and crumpling napkins, Warren Herald dancing as if he had not alleviated himself in weeks, and Lady Sterling murmuring suspiciously into Dr. Kern’s ear. I knew the big names. I had the ability to weave myself in. I did not. I needed to focus on getting that tubby little Hazard brat to talk.

Adelaide Jude caught my eye. She was absolutely stunning in her gown and we only held eye contact for a mere instant. We said everything in that little moment. At this time she was the only one who understood, the only one I could trust. She was on the arm of a man I couldn’t identify from the back. She had already gotten to work.

“Miss Hazard,” I whispered softly into the ear of the girl. She got giddy and whirled around. Her dress was deep green, accentuating her chinless and sunken face. I could do so much better.

“My, Phillip. You’re just what I’m in the mood for.” She cast her eyes across the crowd. “Daddy’s friends can be so tiresome. Come along then.” My hand in her glove I followed her from the dance floor where we tucked into a small parlor.

It wasn’t long before she was kissing me. She was terrible and missed my lips half the time, but I knew this girl knew things that I needed. Things I could use to redeem myself. Things I could take to Elise and she could use. Things that would make me a hero,and perhaps persuade Louisa to come back into my direction. I needed to regain my footing and get back on top (if you know what I mean).

So I let her kiss me all over and she did start talking, but each secret meant more time in that parlor with me jumping through her hoops.

The only part that was truly unfortunate was when her father decided to pay us a surprise visit.


	14. Lillian Parks-McGee / @shades-of-rainbow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @shades-of-rainbow.

It was the night of the big party. Her carefully sewn gown was draped gracefully over her legs as the fancy carriage from the resistance bumped over the roads. Tonight, she was not Lillian McGee, but Lady Joanna Grace from France. Her gloves were pulled up to her elbows and her hair was curled to perfection. As the carriage slowed to a halt, she took a deep breath and the carriage door was pulled open. And she let the footsman help her out. He whispered a "good luck" to her and she nodded. She lifted her skirt slightly as to not trip.

She held the forged invitation in one hand and when she reached the door, she handed it to the guard at the door. He opened the door and she stepped into a beautiful ballroom. The announcer was calling out names and she had to pause and remember her's before stepping up and whispering it into the man's ear. "Lady Joanna Grace!" He yelled out to the room.

I curtseyed at the top of the steps before beginning to descend. I took a dainty glass of champagne from a passing tray and immediately recognized Bram on stage. She had to contain a smile at her good friend with a mustache glued to his face. She slowly swayed back and forth identifying resistance and government members.

She was gazing at her enemy, Nori Lynch when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. She turned quickly, clutching her hip where her knife was hidden, but relaxed when she realized it was only Daphne. "Have you tried the drinks here yet?" She said in a high pitched and very posh accent. "They are quite fantastic!" She jerked her head in the motion of the bar and when I turned to look, I saw the reason for this run in. Standing there, gazing into the crowd, was Walter Steers.

I nod and reply "I'll be sure to try zem!" I say in my rigorously practiced French accent. She winks as I pass, walking towards the blonde man. I reach the bar and order quickly, setting my glass of champagne down. "Cheattaue De Michelle, Si'l vous plaît." I turn and glance at him. I can see him looking at me now. My French caught his attention. The glass of wine is sat in front of me and I take a small sip. I turn my back to the bar, matching Walter's stance. "It's a very beautiful party." I say, my accent still very prominent.

"I do agree." He replies. I look up into his eyes and smile. "I am Walter Steers m'lady." He takes my hand and kisses it lightly.

I turn my head and force a giggle. "Lady Joanna Grace." I reply. "Oh my, I apologize m'lady." He stops to bow to me recognizing my title. "No, no. Please, call me Joanna."

"As you wish, Miss Joanna." I take another sip of my wine and we make small talk for a few minutes, flirting as well. Finally, I get to the point.

"I heard there is an uprising beginning in this floating city of yours." I say turning to look at him.

His face twists up slightly. "That is unfortunately true. We have crushed it in a recent attack though, don't you worry."

I force a small smile. "Oh, I wasn't, I was just hoping you knew more. Many people back home are very curious. Including me..." I look to the ground before looking up at him and take a step closer. He sets down his second empty scotch glass on the counter and I wave to the bartender to bring him another.

"There is much I cannot disclose.." He begins, but I cut him off.

"Oh please, Monsieur!" He looks like he begins to think. I give him a very innocent face and he surrenders.

"Alright." He picks up his third glass of scotch.

"Merci, Walter!" I exclaim.

He starts slowly, feeding me very altered information about the 'violent and savage ways of the resistance' but I listen carefully and try to look intrigued the entire time. As he empties his glass, the information turns into a passionate rant. Soon, people are staring as his voice begins to rise and a very grumpy looking Nori Lynch steps in.

"Who the helI is this, Walter?" She crosses her arms and looks my up and down. "Why this is Lady Joanana Graize!" His words slur slightly, his voice still raised.

He begins on a fourth glass of scotch but Nori snatches it from him and I frown. "Are you here to break up all ze fun?" I ask her and she glares.

"Oh, go on!" She makes a shooing motion with her hands. "Shoo." I pretend to look shocked and offended, but I leave anyway. I press one of the diamonds down on my necklace to stop the hidden recording device. I made off with some decent information. I was aiming for something better, but it's still a contribution...


	15. Ambrose Highmore /  @chocomicol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @chocomicol.

Ambrose Highmore had been assigned the task of finding new bases for the resistance. A few days after the attack, Ambrose had received her mission from one of the leaders. She wished that she could search for clues to who killed her parents. But right now, her main goal was to find locations for the resistance. She walked around the city, to clear her mind. Suddenly, she was pulled out of her thoughts when she felt her black hat leave her head. She whipped around and came face to face with her nemesis, Walter Steers, the mayor’s son. The little prick was always trying to flirt information out of suspected female Pi agents. He especially liked to flirt with Ambrose, because he found her reactions amusing.

“Give it back Steers,” she said, annoyed. The blonde boy smirked.

“Why, you look so much better without,” he reached out and played with her curled hair. Ambrose leaned back slightly.

“Well, it’s mine,” she straightened up and reached up for her hat. Walter smirked at held it out of her reach. Ambrose put a hand on his shoulder and used the stability to jump higher. She grabbed her hat and placed it back on her head.

“Ambrose!” said girl and her ‘companion’ turned and saw Natalie Catchpole, one of the other resistance members. When Ambrose had first joined the resistance, Natalie had been the one show her around headquarters and tell her everything worked. Nat had kind of become Ambrose’s older sister. Natalie motioned for the blonde girl to come over to her, who was relieved to leave the annoying mayor’s son. Ambrose practically flew across the street to Natalie.

“My hero,” she giggled. The two girls walked to Ambrose’s airship to talk about what had happened in the resistance since the attack.


	16. Lady Lydia Stanley / @from-the-garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @from-the-garden. It consists of two sections from two different Polyvore sets. The first segment was possibly co-written by Polyvore users @lunaofthemiste and/or @tokyo-mocha.

 

"Chin up, Lydia. Small smile, not too big." Lydia obeyed her mother's hissed order as the gilded doors to the ballroom were opened for the three Stanleys. Lydia's stomach turned. She'd never been nervous for a party before, but this was her first real mission. The last three weeks had been spent following her mother's every instruction and feigning interest in her father's work. Every day she was closer to being truly inside.

Lady Stanley somehow straightened herself more as she stepped into the ballroom. She inclined her head towards her husband to speak. "I simply don't understand how your son could run off to New York the week before this party when he knew how important it was for me! The selfishness of some people..." Lydia seethed inside, hearing these words from her mother.

Thomas was still recovering from the attack on Pi base. Lydia knew the New York story was merely a cover, and it was for his own safety, but her parents' selfishness really bothered her. The splendor of the room drew her out of her thoughts.

Above her head were tall ceilings embellished with detailed woodworking. Long windows draped with elegant curtains framed the room, letting in a hint of moonlight. Gowns of silver and gold, sapphire and emerald, lavender and rose, swirled around the room. Well, Lydia didn't care much for the Hazards, but they knew how to throw a party. Already she spotted a few undercover Resistance members.

Her parents went immediately to speak to Lord and Lady Hazard, though Lydia knew how much they hated the other couple. Well, how much her father hated Lord Hazard, that is. The Ladies Hazard and Stanley actually got on fairly well, with the occasional squabble and bragging match. Lydia scanned the room for someone to speak to besides the insufferable Honorable Rebecca Celia Tyler, unfortunately, she saw no one before the other girl sashayed toward her.

"Lydia, how lovely to see you. And such a surprise you're here on the floor instead of sitting off with a book as usual! Oh, your dress is just sublime!" Rebecca tilted her head and her dark curls fell over her shoulder. Lydia waited for the insult. Rebecca gave her a pitying smile. "I wore one just like it to my very first party!" There it was. Lydia forced a smile.

"You look lovely too, Rebecca. Are you not planning on dancing tonight? That train is so pretty, I'd hate for it to be trampled. It could almost be a dance floor of it's own!" Lydia's smile turned sugary, her eyes meeting Rebecca's with innocent expression. The other girl still wore the expression of fake pity, not in the least vexed by Lydia's response.

"Darling, it was simply marvelous to see you, but if you'll excuse me, I have... other people to speak with."

"Oh, I understand. You're ever so popular. It must be so difficult. Farewell!" Lydia gave her one last smile as the other girl turned away, replacing the smile with the tiniest of scowls the second she was gone.

"Lydia!! You adorable thing! What a quaint little dress!" Octavia, Rebecca's sister-in-law, and who's mother was a part of Lady Stanley's inner circle, stepped towards her with arms open.

"Yes... Quite lovely to see you, I hope you'll excuse me, I really must..." Lydia turned, desperate to escape another Tyler, albeit one through marriage. A tall figure in a well-tailored waistcoat stepped into her path.

Phillip Jacobs looked smashing as always, and at that moment, Lydia could not have been more happy to see him. "Please ask me to dance, I do not want to speak to her." She smiled, talking through her teeth and conveying her panic through her eyes. Phillip appeared a bit surprised, but instantly obliged.

As soon as they were twirling across the floor, Lydia relaxed. "I'm sorry. That was very rude of me. It's just, she's not exactly the nicest person in the world."

"Well, it's thanks to her that I get to dance with the most beautiful girl here, so she can't be that bad." Phillip used his next step to move a bit closer in. Lydia laughed. She knew how Phillip was, always a huge flirt. Never serious. Over Phillip’s shoulder, Lydia saw Warren Herald make his way toward them. Oh dear… He was always trying to flirt with her. Lydia knew it had nothing to do with her looks or personality, merely her father and his money.

Warren tapped Phillip on the shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?” Phillip raised an eyebrow, but stepped aside without a fuss. Lydia tried to send him a silent apology.

“Lydia, darling, you look magnificent.” Warren’s eyes swept over her as they danced, and a squeamish feeling settled in her stomach. She remembered what Mrs. Massey had told her about the scientists. Any information from them is very valuable, especially about any sort of technology that could be used against the Resistance. Lydia resigned herself to flirting.

“Thank you, Mr. Herald. You look very dashing tonight, yourself.” She met his eyes, tilting her head slightly.

Warren puffed up a little. “Oh, please, call me Warren.”

“All right, Warren. This is a very lovely party, don’t you think?” Lydia couldn’t think of a way to bring up his work. Ugh, why was she so bad at this? He agreed, and they danced without speaking for a minute before Warren’s eyes suddenly lit with excitement.

"Lydia, would you like to know a secret?”

 

Warren led Lydia down hall after hall, down a flight of stairs, and into a little room in the cellar of the Hazard’s mansion. With a few beds, trunks, and a wardrobe against one wall, it appeared to be an unused servant’s quarters. A chill ran down her spine as she thought of what Warren could possibly want to show her down here. “Warren, what are we doing here?” Lydia asked, not allowing her voice to betray her nervousness.

“Shh, you’ll see. Oh, you’re going to love this.” He knelt beside one of the trunks. Lydia nodded, getting the feeling that this could be very, very important to the Resistance. Warren set down the candle he was carrying, unlocked the trunk, and lifted the lid, reaching inside. A click, then a sliding noise as the wardrobe moved from it’s spot against the wall to reveal a hidden door. Lydia couldn’t help but think of how alike this was to the many adventure novels she’d read.

Warren picked up the candle and pulled another key from his pocket, unlocking the door and motioning for Lydia to follow him in. The door lead to another room, but Lydia couldn’t see much with only Warren’s candle. “Hold this, you won’t need it in a moment.” Warren stepped out of the circle of candlelight. Lydia heard a buzz, and then blinding light burst from the ceiling, illuminating the large room.

Now, it was obvious what the room was. A secret laboratory. Shelves lined the walls, and all sorts of odd gadgets sat there, stored away. A whole wall of sinks was to Lydia's left, and the many workstations around the room were empty. Two doors stood on the side of the room opposite the door they'd entered.

"The electric light! Impressive, yes?" Warren drew her attention back to him. Lydia nodded, her eyes drawn back to the laboratory. "Very."

"It was my idea to install them down here, you know. Having candles and lamps everywhere can get so messy. I believe electricity is the future. Here, right through this door." Warren lead her through one of the doors across the room, into another lab area.

This one was just as state-of-the-art, but a bit messier, more in-use looking. Tables around the room wore white sheet-things, covering what almost looked like human silhouettes. Lydia's heart skipped a beat. What sort of horrid projects were they cooking up down here?

"What are those things under the sheets?" Lydia willed her voice to be light and innocently curious. Warren scoffed.

"Sheets? Those are not sheets. They are specially crafted lightweight tarps made specifically for preservation purposes! And as for what's under them..." Warren stepped closer to her, fixing her with a look that said 'you poor ignorant little girl'. "I'm sure, being such a delicate thing, that these stories of violent, wicked rebels have been simply terrifying for you."

Lydia did not like where this was going. She widened her eyes and nodded, playing the frightened delicate lady he expected her to be. "Oh, oh yes. They're quite frightening."

Warren nodded solemnly. "As I thought. Well, you'll see after what I show you now, that you needn't be afraid anymore. But first, you must swear not to tell a soul what you see here tonight. Do you understand?"

"Oh, of course! I wouldn't dream of it!" Of course Lydia understood, and there were many things she wouldn't dream of; it wasn't necessarily referring to telling anyone. Lydia would outright lie if she needed to, but she much preferred loopholes in her wording.

Warren took hold of the sheet on the table closest to them and pulled it off with a dramatic SWOOSH. The sight before Lydia turned her blood to ice.

It was... a dead body. But it wasn't. It was some sort of person-machine hybrid. Wires and metal were somehow part of this person-thing. There was a metal right foot, and all sorts of strange patches of metal in other places on the person, including around the eyes. Eyes that opened slowly, revealing bright blue irises.

Wait. Lydia knew those eyes. And that face. Oh, God. This wasn't some random corpse pulled from a cemetery somewhere. This was Theodore Morris, a member of the Resistance, and fellow spy, who'd gone missing while keeping an eye on Ambrose Lynch over a month ago. Middle aged, jovial, and considerate, Theo had always been kind to Lydia and the other younger members of the Resistance, as he had no living family. He’d joke around with them, make finger guns at them in the hall, and organize ball games in the base from time to time. Lydia had been holding out hope that he was somehow alive, but she'd never dreamed of something like this.

"This, believe it or not, is an actual Resistance fighter. But now... He's on our side. He was a fairly high-ranking spy, we think. We caught him posing as a butler in the Lynch's home. He was one of the harder ones to convert, actually. His loyalties to the Resistance ran deep. But there's no question of who's side he's on now." Warren was talking, but Lydia couldn't concentrate on his words. The not-Theo thing was sitting up; his eyes, once so full of life, were empty and cold. It’s motion was almost life-like, but as it came to an upright position, his head jerked strangely to the left. “There are a few minor kinks to be worked out, but these cyborgs will fight for us against the Resistance. They won’t even know what hit them when their own dead men come back to fight against them!”

To Lydia’s horror, the cyborg’s right hand twitched and lifted, forming what almost looked like… a finger gun. A gasp caught in her throat, and she willed herself to stay calm. He was still in there, somewhere. Some part of Theo survived. With another jerk of it’s head, the cyborg turned right towards Lydia, locking eyes with her. “Agggghh sssaaa” The thing was trying to speak, trying to tell her something. It reached out a hand with metal fingers toward her. Lydia stumbled back, startled. Warren got a panicked look in his eye. With a quick motion, he grabbed the arm and slammed on some kind of button near the elbow. The Theo-monster went limp, falling back onto the table.

“Well…” Warren rubbed the back of his head, a bit sheepish. “It is only a prototype, after all. As I said, there are still a few kinks. But as you saw, it works! That man wasn’t alive before, and when he was, he was fiercely anti-government. Look at him now, alive and a willing soldier against his own helpless cause.”

Lydia made a sound of agreement, not quite paying attention. Oh, how the Resistance needed to hear about this.


	17. Moira Wanderly / @nyssa-fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @nyssa-fire.

I told aunt Nic in as little detail as possible about the Hazards’ party. After Daphne Massey tasked me with figuring out Dave Heaton’s weaknesses, she told me the upcoming party would be a good way to get close to Heaton. I had laughed outright at that, much to Mrs. Massey’s disapproval. I just wasn’t the type of girl to attend fancy parties. Nicolette and I wore mostly pants and corset style tops, sometimes old, flowy skirts and cloaks. Pretty dresses just weren’t our style. Not to mention that I’m too rough for the party style. I mean, sure, I can play the part of a coy girly girl if need be, but my manners weren’t exactly impeccable and I had almost no social graces. I told Daphne about this and she just rolled her eyes at me and told me it’d be fine.

Nic said almost the same thing, but she got a peculiar look on her face. “Hang on, I may have a solution on the dress front.” Before I could ask her what she meant my aunt scampered off out of the kitchenette and into the spare bedroom, which we didn’t use because it was covered in mold and who knows what else. Instead, we stored what little belongings we have in there.

Nic was gone for almost fifteen minutes, much to my annoyance. I was pacing by minute seven. When she finally returned it was with something in her hand. Her smile was grim, but she shook out the pile of fabric in her hands, revealing a gorgeous black dress that I’ve never seen in my life. My jaw dropped as I went to take it from her. It was dusty and damp and would need a good washing, but it was beautiful. “It was your mother’s. I completely forgot I held on to it, but…”

My throat tightened. I was young when my father died, but at least I had seven years with him. My mother died in labor and I never had the chance to meet her. I didn’t even know what she looked like, but I know that I take after the Wanderly side of the family in terms of appearance, so I imagine that she didn’t look much like me. To be holding a piece of my mother in my hands meant a lot. I didn’t say anything, but I hugged Nicolette quickly, with a tight grip to show her how much I appreciated the gesture.

“Come on, I’m sure we can find something to make your ugly mug look pretty for one night I suppose,” Nic teased to cut the sadness from the room. I laughed shortly, punching her in the arm.

Forty minutes later, I was ready for the party. We got the dressed washed out and dried, and it was a bit tight in shoulders, loose in the bust and hip region, as well as being shorter than how it was probably meant to be, but I didn’t mind. I wore my good boots with it, the one with heels and lots of laces. Nic let me wear her silvery cloak that I’ve always loved, and I tied the outfit together with a simple metallic butterfly necklace and a floral circlet of black and red. I felt pretty for once, and it was magical. Logically, I knew I was attractive. I don’t say that to sound conceited, I say it because it’s the truth. I wouldn’t be able to flirt and tease money and possessions out of so many people if I was ugly. But looking good to con people was just part of my job. It was always done with detached assessments of myself. Going to this party and dressing up for it was also part of my job in a way, but I truly felt gorgeous. Maybe it was my mother’s dress, maybe it was the confident gleam in my eyes, or maybe it was the artful makeup that Nic applied. Whatever it was, I felt radiant.

Once I was done lacing up my right shoe, I turned to Nicolette. “Well,” I asked, spinning in a slow circle with a smirk on my face. She whistled lowly and clapped. “You look lovely, hon. Gemma would’ve been proud of her girl,” She smiled sadly. My aunt obviously didn’t know my mom as well as my dad, but her sister-in-law still obviously special to Nicolette. She barely talked about my parents, so I eagerly soaked up anything she let slip.

My face fell slightly. “Tell me about her,” I prompted, hoping Nic would indulge me just this once. She nodded and led us into two rickety chairs in the kitchen area.

Aunt Nic cleared her throat. “Your mother was an amazing woman. She loved to sing and dance around, and she made people laugh all the time. She didn’t look much like us. Gemma was a delicate little thing, dirty blonde hair and grey eyes instead of Wanderly black and blue, but she was gorgeous. Your dad used to say she was his angel. Gemma would swat at him and say that she was no angelic little doll. Chad and Gemma were perfect together, Moira. She kept my brother reigned in, and he treated her like a princess. I was ten when your parents met, and Gemma Hendrickson was my hero. I loved your mother, hon, and sometimes I miss her almost as much as I miss your father,” Nicolette’s eyes were watery when she finished and I was taken aback by that. As a rule, Nic and I weren’t weepy people. But I never knew how deep my aunt’s feelings for my mother went, and I got the feeling that I would never know.

Nic sniffled and laughed. “I’m sorry, love. It’s been a while since I thought about Gemma is all. You should get going anyway.”

I nodded and let Nic to herself, squeezing her shoulder in comfort as I left the kitchen area. She put her hand over mine and smiled slightly in gratitude.

Looking outside, I saw that it was almost dark and Nicolette was right in telling me that I needed to go soon. Picking up the forged party invitation, I left my dingy little flat and steeled myself for what was to come.

 _Dana Rivers. Dana Rivers. Dana Rivers._ I repeated the name to myself, drilling the fake identity into my head. I was used to acting different from myself, but I felt that tonight was different. I had to become Dana Rivers. But I could do it, I knew I could. After all, the world is full of actors. “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.” I wasn’t Moira Wanderly anymore, I was Dana Rivers for the night.

And Dana Rivers loved flirting and dancing and giggling. She was a naïve girl, charmed by the mysterious Dave Heaton who refused to dance with her. Moira wanted Heaton and his mentor Ambrose Lynch to burn. Dana just wanted to have a night of fun. Dana was obtuse and oblivious to the signs and clues Heaton dropped. Moira noticed his hand constantly flitting to his pocket where he kept a small notebook.

Dana Rivers left the party feeling disappointed that she couldn’t get Dave Heaton to indulge her request. Dana Rivers had fun, however, feeling free and beautiful. It was Moira that felt victorious and proud of the information she received. She didn’t have fun, however, feeling shallow and ditzy. But she did her job and that’s all that mattered.


	18. Lucian Blackwell / @natasha-maree13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @natasha-maree13.

For Lucian Blackwell, the phrase hell is empty, the devils are here by William Shakespeare was pretty much the story of his life...the devil being all this paperwork that he was dealing with...to be acting head of the family was to be incredibly busy with bloody paperwork.

Looking over the top of the report he was reading regarding the Cradle of Life and that man Issac Michaels, he waited to see if Nessa or Ansel was anywhere near the office. Minute passed, he must have read that same sentence dozens of times...nothing. Lucian dropped the report and pulled a black folder out of his desk-the folder in question contained notes Gwenny had been collecting before she died. The problem being that all her notes were coded and he had yet to break the code. Nessa didn't know that he was looking into his sisters death or that he believed it had something to do with his position in the rebellion and he didn't want her to know...ally or not. Sure Ansel knew but he was just the butler. Perhaps he needed to speak with Maddie about what he was doing.

At this point any one of them snakes in the government could have been Gwenny's killer, maybe the more Maddie knew, the more help he could get.

Lucian sat back with a sigh...he was essentially going up against the entire government based on a single word he'd been able to decypher from Gwenny's notes:

_Scarborough._


	19. Regina Godwin / @skylarthebichonpuppy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @skylarthebichonpuppy.

Regina Godwin sat in the large dining room with her family and The Steers who planning a trip with the Earl to Kent and Queen’s Cove so Walter can learn the ins and outs of the government.

“Father?” She said.

“Yes, my dear.” He responded.

“May I join you in Kent, I so miss our mansion and I think I left somethings there last time?”

“Your mother and I shall discuss it.” 

“Thank you, Father.” 

She continued her meal.

A week later…

In her father’s study she sat in the chair across from him. 

“Regina, your mother and I have discussed it and you shall be coming to Kent with the Steers and I. I shall get one of the servants to pack for you and we disembark in a week.”

“Thank you Father.” 

“You are welcome my dear. Now I have many things to work on you may go.”

“Goodbye, Father.”

“Goodbye, Regina.”

Regina had a plan she would go with her Father and the Steers and learn more about the attack on Pi. She immediately remembered after her coming out ball a drunk Walt telling her that he doesn’t really like Elmira and she didn’t like him and that their fathers like the merger not them. Then he rambled on about the deaths in the city, Regina had forgotten the details but she knew that Walter is loose lipped after a few too many drinks. 

She had to remember what Sir William Shakespeare had said “Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.” Her goal right now was to stay safe and not blow the whole mission up. Pretty heavy weight on her shoulders she hoped she could do it. She remembered her only ally is herself, she was alone on this mission and no one could help her and her greatest enemy where the people who she had known her whole life, they could find out and ruin her life. Regina had to talk to her contact as soon as possible and tell them that it is all set up. She trusts so few in this world anymore. The only person so far who was mad at her was Andrew O’Rourke who blamed her for being too loose lipped and telling someone about Pi. Untrue, but he was entitled to his opinion.


End file.
